A Heart Full of Love
by Lady Death of Nevada
Summary: It's Christmas, so Arthur has decided to get Francis tickets to the midnight premiere of Les Misérables. FrUK.


"Go ahead! Open it!" I encouraged Francis,

"But, Arthur, Christmas isn't until tomorrow." Francis replied, an inquisitive look on his face.

"Well, think of it as an early gift. Now open it!" After shooting me one last curious look, he delicately tore open the envelope I'd given him. I watched his face carefully as he took out the two slips of paper, watched it and saw that, for a split second, it dropped into an almost frightened despair, before a wide smile cracked across his face.

"Les Mis tickets," He stated, smiling.

"Yeah. I figured you'd want to see it. I know how much you love it. I was able to find a theater around here that's having a midnight premiere, so I got us tickets." I explained. His eyes still hadn't left the tickets in his hands, which he was staring at intensely. He finally looked up into my eyes,

"Merci, mon amour," He spoke as he leaned over, hugging me tightly before kissing me, chastely yet passionately. As we pulled apart, I rested my forehead on his, staring into his dazzling cerulean eyes.

"We should probably leave soon. It's already 11:15." I suggested, to which he nodded his head.

OoO

The car ride was silent. Completely silent. I focused on the street as I steered, glancing over at Francis every so often to make sure he was okay. Each time I looked, his head was against the window, staring at the scenery as it sped by.

"I still can't believe you've never seen Les Mis," He finally sighed, turning his head towards me, "How is that even possible?" He asked in amazement.

"I don't know. Never had enough of a motive I guess. Not enough interest. I think Matty and Austria have urged me to before, but I never agreed to see it," I answered, "But now a do have a reason," I grinned, glancing once more at my lover, who just kept staring at me.

"Ah," Eventually came from him. And that was the end of the conversing.

OoO

We had the best seats in the place. We were sitting comfortably in the back; not so far so that we couldn't see the screen but not so close that we had to crane our necks to watch. The theater was old and tiny, so it wasn't packed as it was at most others, though that wasn't to say that we were the only ones there. There was a decent crowd in our theater. We sat there, empty handed (Francis had said no to snacks, so I hadn't gotten any either) and conversing softly.

"Oh! I almost forgot to ask you! So what is Les Mis about?" I inquired. Francis' face darkened, and as he opened his mouth to reply, the lights dimmed and the movie began. I turned away giving the screen my attention, and suddenly my heart sank. Right there, in the waves, was a murky, dirty flag that I knew all too well. Francis' flag. And then the caption appeared. '1815. Just after the French Revolution,' my eyes opened wide and I whipped my head around to look at Francis, only to see that he was fully engrossed in the film.

Memories flashed back to me. Francis was sick. He could scarcely move, body covered in bandages, blood, wounds, and dirt. He was pale, sallow, and his skin had a sickly gray tinge to it. There were large, dark bags under his tragically dull eyes.

I had spent so much of that time by his side, thinking, almost knowing that he would die. When he didn't, I knew that I'd forever be in God's debt. I had sat by him, crying, cooing comfortingly to him as I watched him writhe in pain and agony. And there was nothing I could do. The only other time I'd ever seen him anywhere near that horrid looking was when Germany had controlled him during WWII.

I shook my head, desperately trying to rid myself of these hated memories, and I quickly turned my head to Francis. My beautiful, perfect Francis. No wounds, no blood. I sighed, turning back to the screen and winding my fingers with Francis', where he squeezed them. I squeezed back sensing that he was a bit rigid.

OoO

All of those people on the screen. All of those Frenchmen; starving, tired, and poor. I felt Francis shake as Anne Hathaway appeared on screen, and was quickly fired from her job and tossed onto the street. She soon had cut off all of her hair and sold it and become a prostitute. Then a familiar song played.

'I know that song! 'I Dreamed A Dream'! I didn't know that this was from Les Mis,' I thought. More shaking. This time though, the shaking became rougher, and if I listened hard I could hear muffled sobs and shaky breaths. I turned to Francis and felt like my heart would shatter.

He sat there, eyes glued to the movie and tears streaming down his face. His breathing was growing more and more ragged. I untangled my hand from his, feeling him jerk at the sudden gesture, and reached it around him. He scooted closer to me, side against the arm rest, and rested his head on my shoulder, tears still rushing down his cheeks. I intertwined my other hand with his once again, resting my head on top of his.

"Je t'aime, Arthur," He whispered hoarsely through his tears. I leant down, kissing his forehead,

"I love you, too, Francis," I replied.

OoO

By the end of the movie, my own tears were falling onto Francis' head and mixing with his. It was such a sad movie, but at this point, my tears weren't those of sorrow.

It was hard to explain. They were partly caused by sorrow, but also because of joy and admiration at the French on the screen, and the red, white, and blue screen covered in French flags. By this time, Francis had his arm wrapped around me as well as we comforted each other. The screen turned black as the credits began to roll and the lights came back on. People filed out as Francis and I slowly separated, wiping tears unsuccessfully from our cheeks.

"That was...amazing," I spoke softly through a sob.

"Oui," Francis smiled, also still crying heavily. I looked at him through my watery eyes and saw him, face red and eyes puffy from the tears. His hair was also a bit mussed up. I leaned over, completely overcome with love, and kissed him, wiping away his tears with my thumb as I did. He kissed back, tears falling harder.

"Merci," He spoke breathlessly once we'd separated, both in desperate need of air, "For the tickets. For the comfort. For everything. I love you so much, mon lapin,"

"Good. I'm happy you enjoyed it. I love you too, frog. Merry Christmas,"

"Merry Christmas, mon ange."

OoO

**Hey guys! I saw Les Misérables for the first time ever today. The whole time, every time I saw the blood and the flags, all I could think of was France crying. So I wrote this. Go out and see it. It really is fantastic.**


End file.
